


fly away home

by emmerrr



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, No Moriyama's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 17:50:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19728709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmerrr/pseuds/emmerrr
Summary: [The guy who the bag belongs to looks to be around Neil’s age, maybe a little older. But now that Neil’s close enough to get a better look, he’s clearly exhausted; there’s dark shadows under his eyes that imply a few nights of poor sleep. His blond hair is mussed on one side like he’s been running a hand through it, and he’s dressed all in black; long-sleeved black t-shirt, black torn jeans, black combat boots. He also has a black hoodie which he’s balled up and is using as a pillow against the back of his chair. His arms are crossed, and he looks...not quite pissed off, but there’s certainly something unapproachable about him.And yet he’s watching Neil, unblinking, unsmiling, almost like he’s silently daring him to speak.“Can I sit there?” Neil points at the chair.The guy looks from Neil to the chair and back again, then he shrugs. “I dunno. Can you?”Neil rolls his eyes mightily, picks up the bag and deposits it on the floor before taking a seat. “I guess I can.”]Andreil week day 1: alternate meeting (i know, i know, i'm late)





	fly away home

Airports still make Neil nervous.

It’s ingrained paranoia, hard to shake off even though he knows his passport is legit now. The paperwork has gone through; he’s officially Neil Josten. His father is dead, the Butcher’s people dead or in custody. There is no one looking for him anymore.

But still, years upon years of looking over his shoulder has done a number on him, and he can’t quite help the shake in his hand as he gets checked in.

His mother had always told him to avoid air-travel.

“What are you heading to South Carolina for?” the lady behind the desk asks, clearly bored out of her skull. She isn’t even looking at him, which makes a change. The now healed but still recent scars on his face draw too many looks at the best of times.

“School,” he replies, and it’s still strange that it’s the truth. Another thing sorted out by the feds for him in exchange for his cooperation in their investigation: Neil Josten is going to college.

He’s going to get to play Exy.

“Enjoy,” she says, and hands him his boarding pass as she waves him through.

Neil’s duffel bag is pulled tight over his shoulder, small enough that he gets to take it on as hand luggage. At the minute, it contains everything he owns, but he knows when he arrives at his destination, he’ll have to get more stuff.

It’ll be like putting down roots and building a life, and the thought is simultaneously exciting and terrifying. Neil doesn’t know how to _do_ either of those things, but he’s willing to learn.

He makes his way slowly towards the departure gate. He has a little time to kill so he looks around some of the shops, gets himself some gum and a bottle of water. By the time he arrives at the right gate, his flight should be boarding pretty soon. 

There’s not many free seats to wait in but that suits Neil just fine; he peers out of the large windows instead, watching all the action on the runway outside.

A few minutes go by, and then a few minutes more with no announcements of imminent boarding, and Neil turns towards the desk, where a couple of members of staff are speaking in hushed tones, expressions harried, which never bodes well at an airport.

A moment later, one of them makes an announcement through the tannoy system.

“Ladies and gentlemen, apologies for the delay. Due to a technical fault on the aircraft, the departure time for this flight has been pushed back by two hours. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

A collective groan goes up around the waiting-area, and Neil spots a couple of people starting to head over to the desk to make their complaints known. He shakes his head, turning back to the window. He’d rather the plane is in full working order before he steps on board.

He watches a few more take-offs and landings before deciding that if he’s stuck here for the time-being then he needs caffeine, so he doubles back through the departure lounge and hits up the little coffee place he spotted earlier.

It’s pretty warm in the airport so he grabs a large iced coffee to go and takes it back to his gate.

By this point, he’s been on his feet all day and wants a seat, but there’s now even less free than there were before.

In fact, there is only one unoccupied seat in the whole area.

At least, it’s unoccupied by a _person._ The guy in the seat next to it has his bag in the chair, unconcerned that he’s taking up an extra seat.

Neil reasons that he might be saving it for someone; a travel companion who’s gone to the bathroom or to get a drink. But no; fifteen minutes pass and no one returns.

Neil’s feet are starting to ache, and he _really_ doesn’t want to sit on the floor until they can finally board the plane.

He walks over, stopping in front of the seat.

The guy who the bag belongs to looks to be around Neil’s age, maybe a little older. But now that Neil’s close enough to get a better look, he’s clearly exhausted; there’s dark shadows under his eyes that imply a few nights of poor sleep. His blond hair is mussed on one side like he’s been running a hand through it, and he’s dressed all in black; long-sleeved black t-shirt, black torn jeans, black combat boots. He also has a black hoodie which he’s balled up and is using as a pillow against the back of his chair. His arms are crossed, and he looks...not quite pissed off, but there’s certainly something unapproachable about him.

And yet he’s watching Neil, unblinking, unsmiling, almost like he’s silently daring him to speak.

“Can I sit there?” Neil points at the chair.

The guy looks from Neil to the chair and back again, then he shrugs. “I dunno. _Can_ you?”

Neil rolls his eyes mightily, picks up the bag and deposits it on the floor before taking a seat. “I guess I can.”

His new seat-neighbour pulls his bag closer with his foot, tucking it under his chair. “Congrats,” he drawls.

Neil settles in, keeping his duffel on his lap and sipping intermittently at his iced coffee. He doesn’t really have anything to keep him entertained, too used to having to be hyper-vigilant in places like this.

Now, he sort of wishes he had an Exy magazine or something to flip though. He could always go and grab one, but he’s only just managed to bag himself a seat and it seems ill-advised to give that up so quickly.

Neil glances at the blond beside him out of the corner of his eye, and is somewhat surprised to see that he’s staring right at him, lids low, expression bored.

“What?” Neil feels the need to say. He thinks his scars are being stared at, and he starts to reach for his hood, the need to hide near overwhelming.

“I’m not gonna steal your shit, you know.”

He pauses. “...Thanks?”

The guy gestures at Neil’s duffel, still sequestered on his lap. “You seem pretty protective of your stuff.”

Neil shrugs awkwardly. “Yeah, well it’s _my_ stuff, isn’t it?”

“Easy, Neil. No need to get defensive.”

Neil freezes, mentally running their brief interaction back through his mind. At no point did he offer up his details. “How do you know my name?”

“Psychic,” comes the response, but whatever Neil’s face does at hearing that makes the guy _almost_ smile. “It’s written on your coffee cup, genius.”

Neil looks down, and his name is indeed scrawled across the side of the cup, only it’s been spelt _Niel._ “Oh.”

He considers for a moment, then puts his duffel on the floor, tucking it under his seat like he saw his seat neighbour do with his.

“Seems a bit unfair that you know my name but I don’t know yours,” he says.

The guy looks at him, hazel eyes unreadable. Then he shrugs and looks away. “Andrew.”

Neil nods. “Nice to meet you, Andrew.”

“Is it?”

Neil’s never had a conversation like this before. It doesn’t seem to be following the usual etiquette he’s come to expect from interactions with strangers. “Well, it’s...something.”

Andrew leans back closing his eyes, looking set for a nap. “It’s something, alright,” he mutters.

Neil quirks a smile, but the conversation seems pretty over now. He leaves Andrew to his nap and finishes off his drink, then tries to remember what’s happening when he arrives in South Carolina.

He’s being picked up from the airport by his new coach, David Wymack, whose couch he has to stay on until the dorms open and the rest of his teammates arrive for summer practices in a couple of weeks.

Neil feels weird about it, but he doesn’t really have any options. And hey, at least this way he’ll be able to get to grips with the area on his own terms without a busy campus to contend with.

He’s been out of touch long enough that he doesn’t really know much about the team he’s going to play for, other than the fact that Kevin Day, the Son of Exy himself, plays there. He knows nothing about the rest of the team. He’s been...indisposed. And since then, he’s been too _busy_ to look into it. The feds said they’d find him a college team, and they did, and that was all Neil needed to know.

From beside him, Andrew sighs and opens his eyes. “No good,” he says, and Neil’s not sure if he’s talking to himself or to Neil. 

“What’s no good?” he asks, surprising even himself. It’s not like him to actively go after a conversation, let alone with a stranger, and he’s not sure what’s prompting him to do so. Maybe it’s that he’s bored. Maybe it’s something about Andrew.

Andrew’s gaze flickers around the departure lounge, and for a moment Neil thinks his question will go ignored. But then Andrew’s eyes finally slide his way. “Can’t sleep here.”

“Maybe you can sleep on the plane.”

“Can’t sleep there either.” He turns to Neil, points at his drink. “Where did you get that?”

“There’s a little coffee place back that way.”

Andrew nods, gets to his feet, hoists his bag over his shoulder. He takes a few steps then stops and peers over his shoulder at Neil. “Any time today.”

“Oh, me too?” 

Andrew rolls his eyes and carries on walking. Neil scrambles to his feet and jogs to catch up, wondering what the hell he’s doing.

Killing time. Killing time is what he’s doing.

They walk to the coffee place in silence, although it’s somehow free of any awkwardness. Neil senses that Andrew doesn’t say much unless he feels like it, and it puts Neil at ease.

The line’s on the long side, and Andrew gets Neil to bag them a table while he waits in it. 

Fifteen minutes later, Andrew rocks up with a hot chocolate topped with a mountain of whipped cream, and a blueberry muffin which he pushes in front of Neil.

“For me?” Neil says hesitantly.

Andrew shrugs. “You look hungry.”

Neil finds himself smiling. “You wanna split it?”

“Blueberries,” Andrew says, wrinkling his nose in distaste. 

Neil cuts the muffin in half. “You can eat around them then.”

He eats his half, and by the time he’s finished it, Andrew’s methodically eaten all of the cream off the top of his hot chocolate. Once he’s drank all of his drink, Andrew cuts his half of the muffin into small pieces, casting aside any that contain excessive amounts of blueberry.

“Not a fruit fan, huh?” Neil remarks, and Andrew shoots him a dry look, but doesn’t dignify him with an answer.

When Andrew’s finished his last morsel, another announcement rings out, informing them that their flight has been delayed by a further two hours.

Everything in Andrew tenses up; his jaw clenches, he hunches his shoulders, his hands close into fists on the table. He breathes in and out slowly.

“You okay?” Neil asks.

“Peachy,” Andrew says, but his teeth are clenched, and he quickly gets to his feet. “Well, looks like we have even more time to kill, Neil. Let’s go shopping.”

In lieu of anything else to do, Neil follows. He bizarrely likes the company, but he also thinks Andrew could do with it too. He recognises the signs of someone else who isn’t comfortable in airports. Maybe they can distract each other.

They make their way to the main shopping area, and Andrew drags Neil from department to department, glancing over everything with a disinterested eye. Neil can’t quite tell whether or not he’s looking for something specific, but then they come across a gift area with ornate glass figurines on display.

Andrew stops in front of the cabinet and scrutinises the contents, slowly circling until he’s seen them all. He turns to the sales assistant and points at a delicate little glass bee. “I’ll take that one.”

While she’s wrapping it up, Neil says, “Do you like, collect that kind of stuff?”

“It’s a gift.”

“For who?”

“My therapist,” Andrew replies, and Neil might have assumed he was joking, except for the fact that nothing about Andrew’s tone or demeanour implies that he’s anything other than stone-cold serious.

“I don’t trust therapists,” Neil says, and Andrew snorts.

“Spoken like someone who desperately needs therapy.”

Neil scowls. “What would _you_ know about it.”

“Nothing at all.” Andrew pays for his glass bee and leads the way out of the store. “But I know a trainwreck when I see one.”

“I’m not a trainwreck.”

“Uh huh. What happened to your face?”

“Fuck you,” Neil snaps. “No one ever teach you any manners?”

“No one ever taught me a lesson worth learning.”

He doesn’t immediately have a response to that. It’s a cryptic answer to what should have been a rhetorical question. He’s still trying to figure out what to say next when Andrew cuts him some slack by changing the subject.

“What’s waiting for you in South Carolina?”

“Exy,” Neil says, and Andrew rolls his eyes.

“Oh, perfect, you’re a jock,” he says dryly. “College team?”

“Yeah. Palmetto State Foxes. You know them?”

Andrew inclines his head. “I’ve heard of them.”

“I don’t really know much about them,” Neil confesses. “I’ve been sorta...off-grid for a while.”

Andrew’s lips curl in a cold smile. “I knew you had a story.”

“What do you mean?”

“Coach Wymack only signs players from broken homes. They’ve all got sob stories.”

Neil shrugs. “So?”

“So that means _you_ have a sob story. I knew you needed therapy.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve made your point,” Neil says. 

They arrive back at the departure gate by now, and there’s no spare seats. Andrew makes a beeline for the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the runway and sits on the floor with his back to it. Neil follows suit, sticking his duffel behind him to act as a makeshift pillow.

“What about you anyway?” Neil asks.

“What _about_ me?”

“Where are you heading?”

“Columbia. We have a house there. My brother’s picking me up from the airport. Oh,” he pulls his phone out of his pocket, “speaking of.”

Andrew presses a couple of buttons and then holds the phone up to his ear. Neil turns his attention elsewhere, giving Andrew some semblance of privacy, but he still hears Andrew’s half of the conversation.

“It’s me. Yep, I _should_ be on the plane right now. It got delayed, I’m gonna be late. Like, four hours late. I dunno, some technical issue or some shit. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll let you know if it changes.” Andrew listens for a second, then his eyes flicker to Neil briefly. “Don’t worry, I’m keeping entertained.”

Neil’s cheeks start to warm, and he smiles a little and shakes his head.

“I have some of that German candy you like by the way,” Andrew continues into the receiver. “Nicky sent me home with a shitload for you. Uh huh. Okay, I’ll text you when we board. Later.”

He hangs up.

“Wrong number?” Neil says.

“Oh, and he’s a comedian. How fun,” Andrew says.

It startles a little laugh out of Neil, and he’s surprised at how good it feels. It makes him want to keep talking.

As they wait out the rest of their time, he finds himself telling Andrew some of his past — heavily edited of course — charting some of the countries he travelled to, what it was like bouncing from city to city. Andrew listens, occasionally asking questions.

“What happened to your parents?”

“My mom died a couple of years ago.” Neil hesitates. “My father died very recently.”

Andrew doesn’t say that he’s sorry. Maybe it’s because he can sense that Neil isn’t, maybe he understands, or maybe he just doesn’t care, but either way, Neil’s quietly grateful.

After a while, Andrew starts to share some pieces of his own. He’s on his way home after spending a little time in Germany with his cousin Nicky. He and his brother Aaron live in Columbia when they’re not at school, in the house Nicky left them when he moved. Their mother died in a car accident a few years earlier. Their father is a mystery, but not one Andrew wants to pursue. He spent a long time in the foster system, and Neil senses there’s more to that than Andrew’s letting on so far, but he doesn’t ask. It’s not his business.

“Why didn’t Aaron go with you to Germany?”

“He was staying with his cheerleader.”

“His...cheerleader?”

“His girlfriend. She’s a cheerleader. One of the Vixens, actually, you’ll meet her. They’re the cheerleaders for the Foxes.”

“Hold on,” Neil says, struggling to catch up. “Do you go to Palmetto State?”

“Did I forget to mention that?” 

“You ass,” Neil says. “When I asked about the Foxes and you said you’d ‘heard of them’ you could’ve been a little more specific considering they play for your school.”

“What?” Andrew shrugs. “I _have_ heard of them.”

Neil grins, and shakes his head. He can’t believe he’s already kind of made a friend before ever even stepping foot in South Carolina. “Well I guess I’ll see you on campus then.”

Andrew’s eyes flash. “Oh, I imagine I’ll be seeing you, Neil.”

There’s an announcement overhead and Neil looks up; they’re calling any wayward stragglers to the gate and will start boarding momentarily. It’s the fastest four hours Neil’s ever lived through.

He looks at Andrew, a strange disappointment filling him that their time together is coming to an end. But Andrew’s gone strangely still, his breathing slow and deliberate. And suddenly it clicks; it isn’t so much airports that Andrew has a problem with.

“You don’t like flying,” he says, not a question. That was what was getting to Andrew about the delay; he just wanted to get the flight over with, rather than delaying the inevitable, dragging out his fear.

“I don’t like heights,” Andrew corrects through gritted teeth. “Not liking flying is a pretty big side-effect of that.”

They join the queue to board, and Neil looks at his boarding pass. “Where’s your seat?”

Andrew checks. “22-A.”

Neil sighs. “28-F.” He’s on the opposite side of the plane and six rows behind Andrew. It’s not _that_ far away, but it’s not that close either.

“Then I’ll see you on the other side,” Andrew says with a shrug. He’s not as nonchalant as he appears, however; his shoulders are a little hunched. He’s holding too much tension in his body.

They get on board and find their seats. Neil’s in the aisle seat, sitting next to an irritated looking businessman who taps away incessantly at his phone.

From his seat, Neil can’t quite see Andrew. He’s short, after all, and he’s in the window seat. There’s a lot of obstacles obscuring Neil’s vision. He finds himself wanting to be able to sit with Andrew, to somehow manage to calm his nerves. He’s not sure where the impulse has come from, but he chooses not to analyse it too much.

He waits until the flight attendant has walked past him, then quickly gets to his feet with his bag and makes his way around to where Andrew is sitting.

“Hey,” he says to the middle-aged lady sitting next to Andrew, very aware of Andrew’s eyes on him. Neil flashes her his best smile. “You wanna swap with me?” He points back at his seat and she looks over, wary. “It’s just that my friend here isn’t feeling too good and I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

The lady now glances at Andrew, who at least does look convincingly pale. “Yeah, okay,” she says. Neil moves to let her grab her bag out of the overhead bin, then neatly slides into the seat as soon as she’s vacated it.

He grins at Andrew, who rolls his eyes.

“You won’t be so smug if I do actually puke on you,” Andrew points out, but Neil remains unconcerned.

“It would add weight to our cover story.”

 _“Your_ cover story. _I_ was just fine.”

“Sure you were,” Neil says. Andrew has a white-knuckled grip on the arm-rest.

They take off shortly after, and in lieu of actually having any comforting words, Neil hums a song under his breath instead, just loud enough to distract Andrew if he needs one. Once they’ve leveled out, Andrew relaxes, and he pulls a pack of playing cards out of his bag.

They play Go Fish, best out of three, which turns to best out of five, of seven. All in all, they’re pretty evenly matched, and before they know it, the seatbelt signs get switched back on and the pilot announces their descent into Upstate Regional Airport.

“I want a rematch,” Neil says as he puts his tray-table back up.

“Like it would help,” Andrew retorts, like he hadn’t only just scraped a majority of victories.

Back on the ground, Andrew has to wait at baggage claim for a checked bag. Neil waits with him. It belatedly occurs to him that he never got in touch with Coach Wymack about the plane delay. He hopes that Wymack is the kind of person who checks the flight information for any updates.

“What are you doing until summer practices start, anyway?” Andrew asks as they wait.

“I’m staying on the coach’s sofa.” Neil wrinkles his nose. He really wishes he was allowed in the dorms this early.

“That sounds cozy,” Andrew says.

“I’ll probably spend as much time at the stadium as I can, get some practice in.”

“Junkie,” Andrew says with a lofty sigh. He steps forward and neatly grabs a bag off the conveyor belt. Together, he and Neil make their way to the exit.

Standing on the other side is a big burly guy in jean shorts and a tank top showing off twin tribal flame tattoos on his arms. The only reason Neil knows this is David Wymack is because he’s holding a sign on which _NEIL JOSTEN_ has been scrawled.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting Wymack to look like, but this wasn’t quite it. Even more surprising is that Wymacks gaze slides right off Neil and lands on Andrew, his eyes narrowing.

“Minyard? Why are you here?”

“Nice to see you too, Coach,” Andrew drawls. “I just got back from Germany.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.” He turns to Neil. “You Neil?”

“Uh...yeah,” Neil says, still puzzling out the interaction.

“Great, I’ve just gotta pay for parking and then we can go. Andrew, you need a lift?”

“No need, Aaron’s here,” Andrew says, and as if he’s conjured him, a mirror-image of Andrew sidles up to Wymack, looking from him to Andrew.

“What is this, a reunion?” he says.

“Fuck if I know,” Wymack says.

“Wait, wait, you all _know_ each other?” Neil asks, incredulous.

“Of course we know each other,” Andrew says, gesturing at Aaron. “We’re twins.”

“Who’re _you?”_ Aaron asks Neil, a fair question.

Wymack answers this one. “He’s Neil, he’s my new striker, and your new teammate. Play nicely.”

Neil turns to Andrew. “You’re on the _team?”_

Andrew grins, the first smile Neil’s seen from him that seems to be from genuine mirth. “Goalie.” He points at Aaron. “Backliner.”

Neil lets out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “You could’ve mentioned that at any time, you know.”

Wymack rolls his eyes. “Glad to see you’ve been making friends, Andrew.”

“You know me, Coach.”

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, as fun as this is, if we don’t leave now I’m gonna have to pay for another hour of parking. Neil, say goodbye, you’ll see these two in a couple weeks when summer practices start.”

“That’s okay, Coach. Neil wants to come with me,” Andrew says.

“I do?” Neil says.

“He does?” Wymack adds, eyebrows sky high.

“Oh fine, just invite people to stay without consulting me, that’s cool,” Aaron says sarcastically.

Andrew turns his full attention on Neil, his face assessing. “Up to you, Neil. Two weeks on Coach’s sofa playing stickball by yourself, or two weeks at our house in Nicky’s old room and fully functioning air-conditioning. Yes or no.”

Well, when it’s put _that_ way…

Neil smiles, turns to Wymack. “I guess I’m going with Andrew, Coach.”

“Fantastic,” Aaron mutters, and he heads towards the exit. Andrew follows, Neil quickly falling into step beside him, wondering how he got into this position but not complaining about it. He feels opportunity biting at his fingertips.

From behind them, they hear Wymack’s parting shot:

“What the _shit_ just happened?”

**Author's Note:**

> it's an au in which aaron is actually allowed to drive andrew's car lmao


End file.
